Avada Kedavra, The Final Hour
by Jarjarrr
Summary: The Dark Lord was coming, and there was little time... James, the defender, would give his life to protect Lily and Harry, as Lily would do for Harry and James. The Final Hour is here, and Lord Voldemort will, for the first time, fail.
1. A Tragic End

"Run!" A loud voice broke the silence of the tense moment, making the young woman opposite to the voice jump. A loud bang exploded what sounded next door, but still making the house tremble and the woman whimper as she clutched something tightly to her chest. The voice spoke again, repeating the command in a louder, more desperate voice, sounding as if it were pleading. "Please, take him and run!"

"I- I can't!" The woman cried, her delicate hands clutching the bundle even tighter and burying her face into it, as if trying to shut out everything that was happening around her. A hand moved forward and grasped her wrist- but it still had a gentle quality, even though the grip was firm and authoritative. The hands belonged to the stern voice that had been heard earlier- a man. His unruly brown hair fell in front of his eyes, but handsomely so. His piercing, almond gaze looked pleadingly at the woman. The woman, one hand hastily brushing away a long strand of scraggly dark red hair, gave a feeble smile. She then suddenly lurched forward, holding the bundle in between them and sobbing into the man's shoulder.

"I just can't!" She repeated, though her voice was muffled by the man's robe. The man gently pulled her away from him, staring straight into her eyes as he placed either hand on her shoulders. He spoke again, his voice sounding strong and confident- but its shakiness gave away the fear he was trying so desperately to hide.

"You have to leave-" another loud bang erupted overhead, making the woman shriek and lean forward to try and attach herself to the man. The man sternly kept her in place, upright, though his gnarled hand moved up to tilt her chin upwards so that he was looking into her eyes. He started the sentence again, trying to steady his quivering voice. "-You have to leave, Lils- you have to leave now."

"But you'll…" Lily broke off, tears running freely down her face as she franticly searched the man's light almond gaze, her hands moving up to try and brush away the dark rivers of mingled mascara and tears trickling down her cheeks. The man hugged her close to his chest, not wanting to ever let her go, but knowing that he had to. There was silence as the two clung to each other, making the moment seem so perfect- but all good things had to come to an end. Another blast shattered somewhere nearby, sounding closer then the previous two. The woman let out another shriek, and the man quickly broke the magical embrace, turning the woman around and pushing her off.

"Go!" He yelled, his voice cracking boyishly. The woman hastily darted towards the exit, her broken heel slipping on the bare wood floor, carefully dodging small play toys that were scattered around. But before she could dart out into freedom, the ceiling gave a terrific shudder, as if threatening to fall. The man moved forward, willing her to keep going, not to hesitate, to escape. But no, she stalled, fearfully staring up at the trembling ceiling. There was a loud creaking sound, and the man loudly cried out, trying to attract the woman's attention before it was too late. "Lily!" "James!" The woman gasped, screaming shrilly and leaping out of the way just as the door lurched forward as someone threw their weight against it. The man rushed forward and helped her up from the ground, where she was clutching her bundle and silently crying. She spoke in broken whisper. "The-they're here, they're going to get us, James- He's here- w-we- we're going t-to-"

"-Get out of here." James curtly finished, cutting Lily off in her sentence. She looked up at him with large, bright green eyes, searching his gaze as she readjusted the position of the bundle. James glanced towards the door- it gave another shudder. He smirked grimly- Lily's charm work would be hard to break through. He pushed Lily and her bundle towards the steps, ushering her up them. He gave her another hug, kissed the top of the bundle fondly, and moved his glasses firmly on the bridge of his nose. He then turned, withdrawing a thin stick of wood from his robe pocket, not flinching as the door shuttered again. He glanced over his shoulder at Lily, who was still standing there clutching her bundle, looking frightened. James's tone was suddenly sterner, a bit paniced, though.

"Lily, take Harry and go! Its him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off -" Lily did as commanded, and not a moment too soon. Immediently after Lily had stumbled out of the room, retreating upstairs to Harry's bedroom, the door had finally cracked under the pressure of the spells being thrown at it. It burst aside, narrowly missing James's head. Out through the dust was a tall, shadowy figure, clothed in all black with a hood drawn over his head. The hood started down at the young man who stood there, pointing his wand straight where his face, hidden by the shadows, was. The hooded man laughed quietly, withdrawing from his own person a thin wand of wood. James opened his mouth and flicked his wand- but it was only a fraction of a second too late.

"James, James, oh, James..." The quiet murmerings of a young woman came from upstairs, where Lily Potter was pressed against the door to baby Harry's room, clutching the bundle to her chest and crying silently into it. In the stillness of the night, she could pick up what was happening upstairs, and her silent prayers seemed to fall on deaf ears. There were two words hissed into the evening, and a blinding green flash of light illuminated the windows for one brief moment. A slumping sound followed, and all went still. Lily gasped and shuddered, slumping down to her knees and leaning against the door, rocking in her grief and clutching the bundle even tighter to herself. The small cloth wriggled slightly, and a small giggle could be heard from it. Lily, cheeks stained with tears, carefully withdrew the cloth that shielded a small child's face, looking into those sleep, bright green eyes. A faint smile came across the woman's lips as she traced the baby's perfect cheek. But she was jolted out of the soothing thoughts of a babe's innocence when there was a noise coming from the stairs- someone was coming up. Lily gasped and edged away from the door, her back to it as she hurriedly layed the babe back into it's crib, hunching over the bed in an effort to protect the young one from the horrors that were coming.

A door burst open, the dark shape once again silohetted in the doorway. Lily didn't dare turn around. The shape slowly removed his hood, revealing a perfectly normal man, though older then the woman. His dark black hair fell handsomely in front of his eyes, but his eyes stared out so evilly, so hungry, that all thoughts of the person being remotely handsome vanished. The man stepped closer, laughing quietly as he once again raised his wand.Lily finally couldn't help it- she turned around, her dark red hair falling in front of her face, eyes looking pleadingly to the evil man standing before her. She stretched her arms out in front of the crib, her wand laying down by her feet. Noticing it, she dived for it- but the man was too fast. He quickly stepped on it, snapping the stick neatly in half. Lily stared dispairingly at the two broken halfs, but with a mother's love, she leaped back into place, spread eagle in front of the crib to defend her son. The man took a step forward, wand raised. Lily shook her head wildly, backing up so that she was pressed against the crib.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now..." A cold voice spoke these words, coming closer, trying to make Lily move away so that she was no longer blocking his prize, the prize he wanted so greatly, the boy he wanted- needed- to kill.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -" Lily pleaded, her hair falling everywhere as she frantically shook her head, pressing so hard into the crib that it was being pressed into the opposing wall. The man seemed to find this amusing- he was smirking, raising his wand even higher. He moved to the side to get a clear shot at the boy, but Lily dived over with him, blocking every time.

"Not Harry!" She begged, tears streaming down her face. "Please... have mercy... have mercy..." But the man seemed to find this statement even more amusing. His smirk had transferred into a grin, and the grin was opening up to release laughter. Lily continued to beg, but her pleas were soon drowned out by the man's manical laughter, eyes gleaming evilly as he raised his wand again.

From the crib, baby Harry was listening to all that was going on. It was loud and it hurt his ears, so he began to cry, further adding to the noise and the laughter. His eyes shut tightly as he cried, moving around beneath the blanket he had been wrapped in. The laughter stopped suddenly, and the two words that had been once uttered in this house before repeated themselves. There was the scream of a woman and a blinding green flash, hurting the young one's eyes even though they were closed. Another slumping sound, and then slow, triumphant steps near the crib.

The man leaned over his prize, raising his wand again. Finally there was no one blocking him- both mother and father were out of the way. He stared at the child, hate pulsing through his veins. Now it was time to kill, it was time for the victory he wanted and needed so badly in order to suceed...

"_AVADA KEDAVRA_!"


	2. Trials of the Followers

It was a dark and eerily silent Halloween night; late enough that all the young trick-or-treaters had already turned in for bed long ago. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A young man, squatting silently in a clump of bushes, jumped at the sound. Someone beside him hissed, warning him to be quiet. The man nodded shrinking lower into the foliage. Slowly he turned, peering through the bushes at a house across the street, watching as a tall, hooded figure made its way towards the door. The man readjusted his mask to get a better look, a sense of fearful excitement coming over him.

The hooded man stopped in front of the door, a hand stretching agonizingly slowly towards the handle. The man in the bushes bit his lip to stop himself from squeaking aloud. The hooded man pulled the doorknob and the masked man felt his hands digging into the ground, his eyes snapping tightly closed. But he heard no squeaking of a door on a hinge, no slamming of it closing behind. The young man in the bushes slowly opened an eye and found himself breathing a sigh of relief, which he quickly changed to a sound of frustration when he noticed his companions had heard. The hooded man was yanking on the handle, throwing his weight against it, hissing spells underneath his breath as he jabbed his wand at the door. The door refused to budge. The man in the bushes found a slight grin appearing beneath his mask- Lily's charm work would be hard to break. But there was a loud sound and the man's head whipped around so fast to look that he felt a crick in his neck. The door had finally given up its fight- the hooded man was inside.

"Fools," the man beside him muttered in a scratchy voice, who was watching the scene eagerly. "They thought that they could resist the Dark Lord!"

"They deserve it." Another snarled underneath his breath, his greasy black hair falling in front of his mask. He, too, was peering avidly out from the bushes as his two companions were.

The first man couldn't say anything, not even manage a nod. He shut his eyes tightly, waiting, waiting. Then, there it was- a bright flash of green light, a faint slumping sound, and loud eerie laughter breaking the silence. He two men in the bush that had spoken let out sounds of approval, one saying audibly, "That's one."

The young man continued to keep his eyes closed; trying desperately to fight back the emotions that threatened to surge forward. For once he was happy that he wore the mask- the others wouldn't be able to notice his tears. The man turned away from the others, but they barely noticed, they still staring with ecstatic anticipation at the house. The other man didn't dare remove his mask to wipe away his tears of remorse, guilt, and grief. He felt his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He tried to fight with himself, convince himself that what he had done was truly alright. It had to be done, the man thought, slowly shaking his head. It had to be. _If I didn't- if I hadn't- _another voice broke into his mind, a small, quiet voice, but taunting all the same, finishing his sentence for him. _–James would still be alive._

"No—" The man whispered aloud, choking on his words. The other two glanced away from where they had been watching, staring strangely at the other. The scratchy-voiced man spoke, his voice almost sounding concerned.

"Something wrong, Pettigrew?"

"Me? No… I- I'm fine" The one called Pettigrew mumbled, his voice gruff in an attempt to mask his emotions.

"Feeling guilty, traitor?" The greasy-haired man leered, grinning from behind his own mask. Pettigrew stared at him, eyes- red with tears- narrowing. It was hard to hear truth spoken like that- the truth of what he was, a traitor.

"No. No, I'm not. I—" But he was cut off by a shrill scream cutting through the night. Pettigrew mentally thanked the excuse to stop trying to explain himself, but felt sickened after he realized what that scream meant. The green light that had just flashed by was fading, but still lightly visible. Once again there were the murmurs of appreciation, and "That's two!" was whispered with excitement and anticipation. Pettigrew said nothing, and once again didn't join in to the silent celebrations. That scream had belonged to Lily, and now his heart was pounding worse then ever. Now he was waiting again, his hands gripping each other tightly in the folds of his long black robe. He was chewing his lip so hard that it had started to bleed, but he barely noticed- and neither did the others, they still wrapped up in the thrill of the night. The suspence, the silence, was maddening. Pettigrew felt as if he couldn't take it any longer, that his head would burst off his shoulders at any moment. But finally, everything ended. There was a loud howl like a wounded animal, and the house gave a great shuddering groan. Then, in a brilliant flash of green light, the house seemed to lift up a few inches off the ground for a moment. It hovered there for not even a second before crashing down and exploding into nothing.

"YES!" Shouted the raspy-voiced man as all three were showered with chips of paint, splinters, and small shards of glass. The man covered his head as they fell, but was cackling madly beneath his breath, muttering things that sounded like "Finally, they're gone!" or "The end of the Potters!"

The greasy-haired fellow was grinning quietly underneath his mask, glancing down at the mark on his left forearm and feeling that this was all worth while after all. Pettigrew, on the other hand, looking terribly distressed. Both other masked men noticed, looking at him curiously. The greasy-haired man was still silently smirking, since he knew very well what was wrong with Pettigrew.

"Pettigrew? Are you okay?" Questioned the scratchy-voiced man.

"Feeling bad about it, rat?" Hissed the greasy-haired adult, smirking sinisterly underneath his mask. Pettigrew was once again thankful for the mask he was wearing- they couldn't see how pale he had become, but it was hard to hide his shaking hands. The first to speak took the shaking for something else, and patted Pettigrew heartily on the back before speaking again.

"Yes, it's finally over. You did it- you lead the Dark Lord right to them. You'll probably be getting quite a reward, eh?"

Pettigrew couldn't speak. He stared at the man with an expression of mixed horror and rage- how could he be happy about this? Now Pettigrew was just reminded again of what he had done- he had lead the Dark Lord to the Potters, it was his fault, he had let Lily, James, and baby Harry all die at the wand of a murdering Dark Lord- and for what? To save his own skin and for the thrill of power. But these promises- power and a spared life- were hardly enough to comfort him. He turned away from the two others, hunching his shoulders defensively and staring out at the remains of the house as smoke and flames licked around it. Once again the raspy-voiced man mistook Pettigrew's actions for something else. He crouched and moved over beside Peter, looking eagerly at the house. The greasy-haired man reluctantly joined them. The scratchy-toned man was once again first to speak.

"He'll send the signal out soon, then we can be off."

"Right, Wilkes. Maybe blow up a few of these muggle homes just for sport?" Offered the greasy-haired man with a laugh.

"Sounds good, Snape. What about you, Pettigrew? Up for a little fun?"

The questioned man silently shook his head, staring out at the house still, waiting again. A dog howled sorrowfully in the distance, making the hairs on the back of Pettigrew's nape rise. Nothing stirred in the house, and no one came out, no deathly skull with a snake slithering from its mouth- the sign of the Dark Lord's followers- rose into the air. Both Snape and Wilkes looked slightly worried. Wilkes sounded slightly fearful.

"He should have sent up the signal by now."

"It'll come..." Snape murmured, staring at the smoke that was forming a cloud above the remains of the house. But nothing formed out of the cloud- it remained smoke. Both Snape and Wilkes looked confused- Pettigrew was still too depressed to do or feel anything. Suddenly, Wilkes took a sharp intake of breath, letting it out in a low hiss of pain. Snape glared at him.

"What's wrong, Wilkes?"

"My arm... it hurt for a second..."

"Which one?"

"Left forear-" But Wilkes cut himself out, remembering. He hurriedly thrust back the sleeves of said arm, staring at his forearm. His masked eyes widened as he stared, and before he said anything, he hard another hissing breath and a small yelp from Pettigrew. He turned towards both of them, stretching out his bare arm for them to see. Snape and Pettigrew did the same, revealing their arms. All three stared at the spots, only Wilkes, the eldest, finding words. "The mark..."

Snape found his voice soon after. "It faded..."

Pettigrew joined in. "I can barely see it..."

All three stared at each other, fear in all their eyes. Even Pettigrew had momentarily forgotten his pain about what he had done. Wilkes rose from the bushes, ignoring Snape's hissing for him to get back down again. He looked to the other scattered clumps of foilage, where other hooded and masked heads were popping up and looking around. Finally, a masked figure closer to the house then the others spoke, addressing all of them in a loud, frightened whisper.

"The Dark Lord... is _gone_!"

Hisses and moans erupted like fire around the circle of hedges surrounding the exploded house, and the first that spoke was the first to leave. There was a faint popping sound, and he was gone. One by one, the others around him followed, aparating back to the Dark Lair. After Snape and Wilkes had both already popped away, Pettigrew, heaving a sigh, followed.


End file.
